


Detour

by Lexie



Category: Glee, Parks and Recreation
Genre: Crossover, Gen, canon pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After McKinley's graduation and the crushing news that comes with it, Kurt and Blaine take a road trip. It hits a bump in a small town in Indiana.</p><p>
  <i>“Donna ran him over with her car at the Bulge,” Leslie says, immediately throwing Donna under the bus.</i>
</p><p> <i>“He was a ninja,” Donna protests. “A fancy ninja. And I tapped him, I did </i>not <i>run him over.”</i></p><p> <i>Kurt narrows his eyes at Donna.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I can’t believe this tiny town has a gay bar,” Kurt says over the music, raising his fists and shimmying. He absently tucks his lower lip between his teeth, providing yet another piece of evidence for Blaine’s ‘a not-trying-to-be-sexy Kurt Hummel is a dead sexy Kurt Hummel’ hypothesis.

“ _I_ can’t believe you wanted to come to it,” Blaine replies, shimmying back at him. “And that the Snake Hole and the Glitter Factory weren’t also gay bars. Seriously? ‘The Snake Hole’?”

“You have clearly been watching some _weird_ porn,” Kurt says. Blaine loves that tone and that head tilt; they’re flirty and frank and making fun of him a little, and challenging.

The thing is, Kurt has gotten very good at being sexy when he _is_ trying, too.

Blaine laughs and gets to watch Kurt’s face brighten as Blaine shuffles in closer, swinging his hips to the beat. “I don’t actually watch a lot of porn right now,” Blaine confides.

Kurt lifts an eyebrow, inquiring. “Oh?”

“Why would I do that when reality’s so much hotter?” Blaine loops his arms around Kurt’s neck and is rewarded by Kurt’s smile.

Blaine feels warm and lazily happy, cradled by the low throbbing bass beat and the dim light, surrounded on all sides by men (and a few female couples, but mostly men) dancing together much more scandalously than he and Kurt are. The Motel 6 where they’re staying is a short walk across a well-lit road, and Blaine had one beer when they first got here and has been drinking Cokes ever since while Kurt slowly works on his second tequila sunrise. Getting to flirt and dance and let loose a little, knowing they’ll be safe here, and with the added bonus of knowing they won’t run into any of the three other young gay guys they know in Lima or any authority figures who’ll recognize them — it’s nice.

When Kurt tosses back what’s left of his drink, reaches over to put the glass on an unoccupied table, and reels Blaine all the way in with both hands on his waist, Blaine ups his mental rating from ‘nice’ to ‘fantastic.’ He loves how strong Kurt’s hands are, and the way he pulls their hips together, and how he nibbles lightly just below Blaine’s ear with his sticky-sweet mouth before murmuring, “What do you say we go back to reality?”

It should be a little silly and campy and nonsensical, and it is, but it also goes straight to Blaine’s pants. “Yes please,” he murmurs back, looking up at Kurt, who laughs softly and takes a step away. He rests a hand in the small of Blaine’s back, though, a light touch as they move through the dancers and past the bored bouncer who squinted at their fake IDs before letting them in, and who now tells them to have a good night.

In the parking lot just outside the entrance, they catch each others’ eyes and laugh. Kurt looks a little embarrassed now that they’re out under the streetlight. Blaine leans in and presses a quick kiss to his lips to draw a smile out of him, rubbing a hand up and down Kurt’s bicep.

“So,” Blaine says, since Kurt still looks like he might appreciate a change of subject (he’ll be fine once they’ve shut the hotel room door behind themselves, but Kurt has never loved talking about sexual topics while they’re in some form of public), “what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”

Kurt’s face lights up; he turns around to walk backward as they start strolling through the lot. He’s facing Blaine and gesturing emphatically with both hands, practically floating on his toes. “ _Well_ ,” he says, “first, we’ll start with the detour to Bruceville, to see the backyard roller coasters,” (Blaine nods enthusiastically), “then we’ll arrive in time for check-in at 3:00. We’ll make the rounds of several vintage shops with excellent online reputations in South Grand, maybe look at the St. Louis Walk of Fame, then move on to the Central West End for dinner.”

“I still want to take the LGBT history walking tour, too,” Blaine says, following him comfortably. “That and the food festival are both in the same neighborhood, right?”

“That’s day two,” Kurt says, “along with the Gateway Arch, the Missouri Botanical Gardens, and—” he waves a dismissive hand, “that stadium, the one my dad wanted a T-shir—”

It all happens in a split second. Blaine registers the parked car’s white reverse lights going on, too slow.

“ _Kurt!_ ” he snaps, instinctively stopping dead in his tracks and reaching out to grab Kurt’s arm. He yanks Kurt back toward him, but the car backs up before he has pulled him all the way out of its path, and Blaine can feel the impact through Kurt’s arm when the bumper hits his knee.

Kurt yelps and falls back and the car’s tires immediately crunch in the gravel, brake lights going on, but Blaine only has eyes for Kurt, dropping to his knees on the asphalt and grabbing for him with the blood roaring in his ears.

“Kurt,” he says, frantic; “are you—”

“I’m fine,” Kurt says, wide-eyed and sitting on his butt with his hands supporting his weight behind him. “I’m fine; I’m okay.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god,” someone is saying, turning it into one long word, and car doors are opening. Blaine ignores them; he barely registers them, his heart thumping wildly.

“It’s not—” Kurt is saying, and then there’s a blonde woman standing over them. In the quick flash Blaine catches of her face before he stares at Kurt again, she looks both weirdly familiar and almost as panicked as he feels.

“ _Oh_ my god,” she says, and she raises her voice. “Man down! We have got a _man down_!”

“The corner of the bumper tapped me; it knocked me off-balance,” Kurt says, looking at him. “That’s all.”

“Are you really okay?” Blaine asks, hands hovering over his sides. He’s almost afraid to touch him.

“It feels like a bruise,” Kurt tells him, face white under the sickly light from the buzzing streetlamp overhead. “I’ve suffered worse from dance rehearsals with Rachel where we’re both trying to lead.”

Blaine laughs softly, trying to convince his surging adrenaline to calm down, and the blonde woman says, “Oh thank god,” and she waves off the bouncer who’d started to approach from the door. “False alarm, people; it’s just a bruise! Donna! You didn’t kill anybody!”

Kurt looks startled, but not like he’s in any actual pain. Blaine rises into a crouch, then to his feet, and he offers Kurt his hands. Kurt dusts gravel off his own (and they’re scraped up and a little bloody, Blaine notices), then takes Blaine’s hands and lets him pull him up.

As Blaine slings a supportive arm around him, still closely watching his expression, a black woman in a leather jacket comes around the driver’s side of the SUV. “Are you okay?” she asks.

Blaine blinks. Kurt frowns. He says softly to Blaine, “Is she talking to me or the car?”

Blaine thinks she’s talking to the car.

“We are _so sorry_ ,” says the blonde, her hands up.

The other woman, apparently Donna, turns away from the Mercedes’s bumper and furrows her eyebrows at Kurt. “And what are you doing going around at night dressed completely in black? What are you, some weird kind of ninja?”

Kurt said, when they were getting ready to go to the Bulge, that the outfit represented the death of a dream. That had made Blaine’s chest feel tight and he’d wrapped his arms around Kurt and cuddled up behind him, watching in the hotel room mirror as he finished styling his hair. But at the same time, the fact that Kurt felt better enough to start making grandiose statements and dramatic gestures gave Blaine hope. Anything was better than the two weeks of pale public brave-face and occasional private crying they’d just finished. Maybe this trip was helping after all, he’d thought.

Kurt glares at Donna. “It’s a statement.”

Her face looks dubious. The other woman peers at them, then says the words Blaine has been dreading all night. “You’re just kids. You’re babyfaces. They’re babies. How did you even get into the Bulge?”

“No, we’re definitely 29 and 38,” Blaine says, and he quickly looks at Kurt. “You’re _sure_ you’re okay?”

“Do you think that if you ask me enough times, I’m going to change my mind?” Kurt asks. “I’m fine; let’s just g—” He takes one step on his left leg and then goes ominously silent, sagging back toward Blaine, who momentarily staggers under the unexpected weight and then rights them both.

“ _Wow_ , okay,” says the blonde, digging in her purse. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Don’t do that,” Kurt says, immediate and intent. “Please don’t do that.”

“Kurt…” Blaine says, softer, not quite pleading yet but knowing he’s probably on the way there. “We’ve got to get that checked out.”

“They don’t want you to call 911 because somebody’s probably gonna try to get the 411 on what they were doing in that bar, Leslie,” says Donna. “They’re like 16. Which — respect, for getting in there with those two faces.”

In the brief second that Blaine spares for her, Leslie looks indecisive.

“I can’t embarrass my dad like this,” Kurt says desperately, a little at Leslie but mostly to Blaine. “It could ruin his chances at a reelection campaign. ‘Underage gay son liquored up enough to get _run over_ at tacky gay bar in Indiana.’ “

“Um, first of all, they’re good people in there,” Leslie is saying, but Blaine talks over her.

“Your dad would pick you over any campaign,” he says, and he’s going for his iPhone when Leslie says, “Wait.”

Blaine glances at her. She has brightened up, enough to almost look maniacal. “My beautiful best friend in the entire world also happens to be the best nurse in the entire world.”

“That is the first good idea you have had all night,” says Donna.

“Come on,” Leslie says, waving them in and speed-dialing someone. “We’re _going_ to Ann’s house!”

They both look at her. Blaine knows his dubious stare is nowhere near as good as Kurt’s, but — seriously.

“… We’re — _going_ to a safe, completely public space where Ann can meet us and look at your leg!” she says, with the same amount of enthusiasm, phone held to her ear. “In a — non, creepy, way. In a really professional medical way.” She turns away and walks back toward the passenger side door, heels clicking. “Ann, we have a situation! Code blue, repeat, code blue!”

“Is … she always like that?” Blaine asks hesitantly.

“Yep,” says Donna. “Pretty much. Come on. I can basically guarantee that we’re going to JJ’s Diner, right down the road. We’ll drive there and Ann’ll check you out.” It sounds reasonable when she puts it like that, and from Blaine’s experience in judging people — he thinks she seems kind, if a little brusque and really into her car.

Eyebrows raised in question, he glances at Kurt, who looks like he’s thinking it over. Donna, meanwhile, waits for about five seconds before heading to the driver’s seat. On her way, she opens the backseat door.

“I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it,” Blaine says, in response to Kurt’s silent, eyebrows-raised return glance. “It’s either this or I Google the nearest hospital and take you to the emergency room.”

“Well,” Kurt says, “given _that_ choice…” He says it with a certain amount of acidity that Blaine knows he doesn’t mean but — worried or not worried — shoots Kurt a level look at, anyway. The curl of Kurt’s mouth takes a turn for the apologetic. He says, “I think we should go to the diner. I’m not prepared for emergency room lighting.”

Blaine snorts lightly, knowing his smile is a little on the wan side.

“Hey,” Kurt says, quieter, and he gently bumps Blaine’s hip with his. “I’m all right.” Blaine has a sneaking suspicion that if he didn’t know that Blaine would panic if he showed any sign of not being okay (and that Blaine would insist on the emergency room and maybe an ambulance if that was the case), Kurt would probably be letting himself be a little dramatic right now; Blaine has _seen_ the way his boyfriend gets when he has the flu.

He really does seem pretty calm, though, so Blaine supports him with an arm around his middle as he limps toward the open car door. Kurt continues, “Which is primarily due to you, hero of the hour. I’m starting to think you have a fetish for pushing me out of the way.”

It has the intended effect — Blaine laughs quietly, helping him into the backseat.

While they’re clambering in, Leslie turns around. “We’re going to JJ’s!” she says. “You guys are gonna love it.”

“—Great,” Blaine says. He shuts the car door behind himself, buckles his seatbelt, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“So I’m Leslie Knope,” Leslie says, “and this is Donna Meagle, and again, we are just—” she presses a hand over her heart, “we are _so sorry_ about this.” Donna switches the radio on and backs out of the parking spot, this time without hitting anyone.

Blaine is texting Mike ( _pls remember: pawnee IN, leslie nope donna meagol. I’ll explain later_ ) as he says a polite, “I’m Blaine, and this is—” He glances across the backseat.

“Kurt,” he says, and then he raises his chin in the way that often means he’s about to do something that’s going to make Blaine overflow with either pride or despair. “Kurt Hummel.”

“Hi K— Hummel,” says Leslie, and then her eyebrows rise and her voice deepens and she says, “ _Hummel_. As in freshman congressman from Ohio Burt Hummel?”

“The one and only.” Blaine can only guess at why Kurt just gave away his identity so easily (maybe he thought it was a moot point given the amount of times Blaine has already loudly said his not-very-commonplace name, he thinks guiltily), but he can tell that Kurt is still really worried about how this might get back to and reflect on his dad. He reaches over and squeezes Kurt’s knee.

“Wow,” says Leslie, as Pawnee’s Main Street rolls past out the windows. “Your dad’s campaign was, just — wow.”

“Ohio? That was some crazy stuff. Baboon hearts, right?” says Donna.

“My dad doesn’t have a baboon heart,” Kurt says, with the cadence of something that he has repeated often.

“Your dad is great!” Leslie tells him. “I followed his campaign and I’ve been watching his voting record; the lack of political or municipal experience is a little unsettling, but his commitment to positivity, his convictions, and the people of northwestern Ohio is the kind of thing that,” she sighs dreamily, smiling, “you just love to see.”

Leslie Knope, Blaine slowly realizes, is some kind of political junkie.

“As heartwarming as this all is,” Donna says, pulling into a parking spot and turning off the engine, “what are you two doing in Pawnee?”

“Roadtripping,” Blaine says, with a glance at Kurt, who looks preoccupied with figuring out how to unlock the door. “We’re actually not 16 — Kurt just graduated, so we’re celebrating.”

Blaine first came up with the idea a week after graduation, while trying to think of ways to distract Kurt from the awfulness of unpacking all of his New York boxes and reading subdued-but-still-excited Facebook updates from Rachel. A road trip was the first thing Kurt showed real sustained interest in, so Blaine jumped on it.

He spent two hours making hypothetical plans out loud — then Kurt slowly started wrinkling his nose at ideas or applauding them, and the next thing Blaine knew, Kurt was looking up roadside attractions on his phone.

It only took a few minutes to convince Blaine’s parents. It helped that he let them assume that this was a group trip; he never lied, just talked about it as a graduation celebration and carefully never mentioned that it would be just him and the boyfriend who they’ve never fully welcomed. He’ll deal with any fallback when he gets back, if they even ask any detailed questions or want to see pictures, both of which are doubtful. Burt was a tougher sell, over the course of several hours with Carole’s able assistance. They didn’t have to get his permission but they both preferred having his seal of approval (or at least not disapproval), and when they finally got it, it meant they could take the Navigator instead of Blaine’s mom’s Volvo.

“We were just in Chicago for show choir nationals, so we thought — St. Louis!” Blaine unbuckles his seatbelt and slides out of the car. Because Kurt is the most determined, stubborn person Blaine has ever met, he’s already halfway out of the car and grimacing when Blaine rounds the hatchback to help him.

“Show choir nationals; those sound fun,” says Leslie over her shoulder, as she hurries up to the door where a woman is flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED but smiles when she sees Leslie approaching.

By the time Leslie’s friend arrives, Blaine actually feels a lot better about the way the night is going. Kurt swears that he’s not in much pain, especially now that they’re sitting down. Blaine texts a confused Mike to tell him to disregard the earlier text and that everything is fine; he feels safe now in the assumption that Donna and Leslie aren’t axe murderers. Leslie chats with the waitress, asking detailed questions about her family, and orders them four plates of — and Blaine was doubtful when she first started talking them up this way, but he now totally agrees — _the_ most amazing waffles he’s ever had, and he drowns his in maple syrup while passing Kurt his extra whipped cream.

(He feels like he gets some serious insight into Leslie’s psyche when he sees just how much whipped cream she piles on her plate. It’s more whipped cream than waffle.)

They talk about Nationals and politics, and Blaine definitely really, really likes Leslie; anyone who is that impressed by a show choir title (Donna is impressed, too, but wants to know what kind of swag they won) and, more importantly, that impressed by _Kurt_ (once he gets going on managing his dad’s campaign) is automatically in Blaine’s good graces. He likes Donna a lot, too, but it’s Leslie’s sunny can-do attitude that really speaks to him.

He barely even notices when a car pulls up out front. He and Leslie are talking _Deathly Hallows_ book vs. movie while Donna and Kurt make judgmental noises when the waitress goes to let the driver in. She’s wearing a canvas jacket and pajama pants, bag thrown over her shoulder, and she looks over their little group (Donna and Leslie on one side of the booth and Kurt and Blaine tucked into the other, a chair drawn up so Kurt can elevate his leg with an icepack on his knee) with what looks like wry surprise.

“Wow,” she says, setting her bag down. “You called and said there was a medical emergency, and there is an _actual_ medical emergency.”

“Ann!” Leslie greets, beaming. “Guys, this is beautiful Ann. Ann, this is Kurt and Blaine.”

Blaine is still not totally sure about the nature of their relationship; he would hope Leslie has figured out by now that it would be okay to call her her girlfriend instead of best friend, in front of him and Kurt. He smiles politely, though, and says, “Hi” while Kurt says, “Hello.”

Ann points at Kurt, in a friendly, conspiratorial sort of way. “Kurt or Blaine?”

“Kurt,” he says.

“Hi Kurt.” She smiles, and Blaine gets a pretty good idea of why Leslie keeps referring to her as beautiful. “Can I get a look at that knee?”

He lifts the towel-wrapped icepack away and unties his shoe so he can pull it off, and as he rolls up the leg of his trousers, Blaine takes a second to be grateful that he hadn’t chosen the tall Docs or skintight pants tonight. He winces in sympathy as he gets a look at the side of Kurt’s knee, which doesn’t look like it has swelled or anything but is covered by a giant bruise in varying shades of purple, blue, black, green, and yellow. 

“Ouch,” Ann says, with a sympathetic scrunchy face. “Okay, what exactly happened here?”

“Donna ran him over with her car at the Bulge,” Leslie says, immediately throwing Donna under the bus.

“He was a ninja,” Donna protests. “A fancy ninja. And I tapped him, I did _not_ run him over.”

Kurt narrows his eyes at Donna. Ann sighs like she’s not even surprised by this kind of weirdness.

She draws up another chair and sits down, shooting Leslie a funny look as she does it. “What were you doing at the Bulge?”

“Thanking them for their support,” Leslie says, like it makes perfect sense. “The gay electorate is a highly influential voting bloc in Pawnee, and they backed my campaign from the start.”

Blaine abruptly realizes why Leslie’s face had looked familiar when she first leaned over them in the parking lot. “You’re on that poster,” he says. “That Obama one, over the bar.”

“Well, actually, it was a Knope Hope poster, but yes,” Leslie says.

“Please tell me you don’t work with my dad,” Kurt says, fervent, and then he hisses through his teeth as Ann presses over his knee with her hands (“Sorry,” she says; “just checking something”). His face looks pinched. Blaine puts his hand over Kurt’s on the table, and squeezes tight.

“What? Oh, no,” Leslie laughs. “Noooo, no. I just recently won a city council race, not a congressional one.” She sounds dreamy. “But someday.”

“Is your dad in Congress?” Ann asks, sounding a little bewildered. “God, I’m so behind on what's happening here. We’re going to lower your leg off the chair, slowly, and I’m going to have you bend your knee for me, okay?” Kurt nods, starting to do as instructed.

“This is why we need to be discreet,” Leslie says. “Not that I condone teenage drinking, which — I do not.”

Ann briefly glances up from helping Kurt bend his knee, giving Leslie a look that fairly screams ‘what is even happening right now?’ and that Blaine would probably find more adorable (she and Leslie are adorable) if he wasn’t worriedly watching what’s going on with Kurt’s leg.

“You guys do know that I’m gonna confiscate your fake IDs, right?” Leslie says, and Blaine looks guiltily at Kurt, who meets his eyes for a second and then seems very interested in the ceiling. “I know, total adult move,” she continues, as if she … isn’t an adult, “but I’ve gotta do it. Come on. I know you have them.” She holds her hand out across the table. It might be a more authoritative move if she didn’t have whipped cream on her thumb. “Hand ‘em over.”

Blaine slowly sits up off his wallet and pulls it out of his back pocket, sliding the ID out and giving it to Leslie. Wallet in hand, Kurt places Chaz Donaldson’s Hawaii driver’s license on top. Leslie tucks them away inside her blazer, and then her serious face immediately shifts back into a smile.

“You two should come to City Hall tomorrow,” she says. “You really can’t leave without getting the grand tour of the very best place in the greatest town in America.” She pauses a beat. “And as, you know, an apology for hitting you with Donna’s new Mercedes.” Donna nods serenely. Blaine really isn’t sure which part she’s agreeing with.

“Oh, wow,” says Blaine; “that’s really nice of you, Leslie, but we’re kind of on a tight schedule, and…” He trails off, expecting Kurt to chime in, but he doesn’t. Blaine furrows his eyebrows and glances over to find him looking thoughtful.

“Okay,” says Ann, and Blaine lets his attention snap back to her next. She’s sitting back and looking at Kurt. “Keep icing it. If it still hurts to walk on or looks any worse than this in the morning, then you should get an x-ray. But I really think this is probably just a mean bruise; you’re not showing any signs of a break or a fracture.”

Kurt blinks, and then it’s like his slow smile is the trigger for telling Blaine that it’s going to be okay. Relief floods through him, and he rubs the back of Kurt’s hand with his thumb.

“Thank you,” Kurt is saying, and then Blaine’s thumb strokes across the sticky edge of a bandaid.

“You should look at his hands, too,” he says; “we cleaned them but he scraped them up when he fell.” That seems a little rude, so he adds: “If you don’t mind.”

Ann looks like she’s kind of amused by him. She says, “Sure. Hands like this, please.” Looking a little put-upon, Kurt echoes her pose and holds his hands out, palms up.

“I think we should take Leslie up on her generous offer,” Kurt says, while Ann is peeling up the edges of bandaids.

“—Really?” Blaine asks, as Leslie beams. “I mean, that would be great, but we’ll miss the Stapletons’ backyard rollercoasters and early check-in.”

“We’ll be in St. Louis for three days, Blaine,” Kurt says. “Kevin Kline and a bunch of baseball players can wait a few extra hours.” At Blaine’s blank look, he adds, “The St. Louis walk of fame.”

“If you’re sure,” Blaine says, though he knows Kurt must be; while Kurt’s manners are excellent, he also has no problem making himself heard when he doesn’t want to do something. He genuinely wants to go on a tour of City Hall in Pawnee, Indiana.

Blaine personally thinks it sounds really interesting; the last time he set foot in a city hall was in fifth grade on a field trip. He’d hung on every word from the city councilor who’d stepped out of her chambers to speak to the class, while a bunch of his classmates played a game that involved flicking crumpled-up straw wrappers into his hair. He doesn’t mind staying in Pawnee a few extra hours. He’s just not sure why Kurt, who’s been so gung ho about getting to the big city (and so regimented about their detailed itinerary), has had a change of heart.

“We accept,” Kurt says to Leslie.

“Great!” she cheers. “We’ll just have to keep it quiet about where we met, because of the whole — illegal, part. On the down-low. This is going to be so good!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backed all the way into the wall, Blaine mutters, “Just smile and avoid eye contact” through a gigantic show smile.

When the elevator doors ding, two teenage boys step out, followed by a cameraman swinging around in front of them. Someone is having a muffled screaming fight behind a closed door down the hall. The overhead lights flicker and buzz, casting a sickly yellowish tinge. Three police officers walk past with a man who’s in handcuffs and hollering about Zorp. The line for … something stretches around the corner and past the elevator; every person standing there looks like this is the morning after a five-day bender and they’ve been in line since the dawn of time.

The smiles drop off the boys’ faces. The taller one stops posing for the camera. He mutters, “Blaine,” out of the side of his mouth.

Most of the people in line keep doing what they were doing, arguing or staring dully at (or holding a conversation with) the wall, but a few of the nearer ones turn to look at the two newcomers. They stand out immensely, both in age and in dress, the shorter in highwater pants and a short-sleeved button down topped off by suspenders and a bow tie, and the taller in a green and blue tartan suit with boots.

“Is this seriously where Leslie works?” one says quietly.

“Blaine,” mutters the other, “Blaine. That one is looking at us.” They cringe back together from the frizzy-haired, wild-eyed woman wearing a denim vest (that matches her acid wash jeans) and carrying a garden gnome under her arm, and who is, in fact, glaring at them. Low and borderline hysterical: “Oh my god it’s like _Amélie_ had a baby with a Whitesnake video.”

“Urine, get your fresh clean urine here,” says a man who’s walking up and down the line, holding open the sides of his lumpy hoodie like wings to reveal several rows of bottles sloshing with yellow liquid taped to the insides.

Backed all the way into the wall, Blaine mutters, “Just smile and avoid eye contact” through a gigantic show smile.

* * *

“Wait, what? Nooo. I hate those guys; all they do is brag about how hot their interns are,” Tom complains, dragging himself up out of his chair and slowly across the Parks Department conference room. “This isn’t fair.”

“No,” says Leslie sternly, still pointing at the door. “No. It is perfectly fair. You know what you did.” As he goes out, Donna leans over and swings the door shut behind him. 

“This is so uncool, Leslie!” he yells through the window.

“It’s for your own good, Tom!” she yells back. “Now, as I was saying — we have to figure out a concise, on-message way to make it _really_ clear that the playground in Ramsett Park is not a place for daylight teenage rave—”

Leslie’s phone buzzes. The whole department (plus Ann) groans; someone throws a paper ball that bounces off Leslie’s arm.

“Hey,” she says, warning; “ _hey!_ ”

“Leslie, you have _got_ to tell Ben to ease off with the texting,” says Ann frankly.

“Seriously,” says April, not looking up from her phone.

“Ohh-kay, guys,” Leslie says, rolling her eyes with a laugh as she picks up her phone; “Ben is just settling in in Washington; it’s not a big deal, I’m sure—” and then she reads the text and sits bolt upright. “Oh … crap.” She hops up. “We were almost done anyway, right? Right!” As she barrels along, Jerry looks at the report sitting in front of him (it says “by Jerry Gergich” at the top) and opens his mouth, and then Leslie yells, “Meeting adjourned!” and zooms out of the room.

They all look at each other.

Andy’s phone buzzes. He picks it up and laughs. “Jerry _did_ do all that work for no reason!” He holds up his hand and April slaps him a high-five.

Jerry sighs.

* * *

“So!” says Leslie, ushering the two boys into the department foyer in front of her. They look shellshocked. “Here we are! The Parks Department, where the magic happens. Everybody, this is Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel from Ohio; Donna and I met them last night in a way that was not at all illegal or potentially life-threatening, and I’m taking them on a tour of city hall. Kurt, Blaine — this is the Parks Department.”

The two of them stare at all of the faces looking back at them.

“They … accidentally got off the elevator on the fourth floor; they’re still recovering,” Leslie says.

“Leopard-print polyester,” says Kurt, dazed. “So much leopard-print polyester.”

“Leslie, a word?” says Ron, gesturing into his office.

“Sure thing, _department head Ron Swanson_ ,” she says. “I’ve decided to do casual introductions. Guys, hang here for a minute — April can give you the tour of the department!”

April says, “No I can’t.”

“ _Top administrative assistant and fill-in for me while I’m performing city council duties April Ludgate-Dwyer_ can give you the full tour,” Leslie says grandly, with a pointed look at April, “possibly with assistance from _excellent assistant Andy Dwyer_ ,” and she vanishes into Ron’s office.

“I’m excellent!” says Andy, delighted.

Kurt and Blaine look at April. She looks back.

She sighs. “Copier, printer, desk, door, other door.” She points to each as she says it. “There you go.”

“How did you meet them again?” Jerry asks Donna, aiming a smile at the boys.

*

“We bumped into Leslie and Donna last night at the gas station,” Blaine told the camera. He was comfortably shifting his weight back and forth, being filmed in a hallway as city hall employees walked behind him. “They were really great and invited us on a tour of City Hall while we’re passing through Pawnee.”

—

“No big,” Donna said into the camera lens, calm.

—

“I … have never seen them before in my life,” Ann said. She was standing in the courtyard, arms folded. “Because I would not have had a reason to have seen them, before right now.” There was a beat. She wrinkled her nose, like she had confused herself. “Right?”

—

“What did Blaine tell you?” Kurt asked, slowly tilting his head from side to side like he was trying to decide on the best angle, smiling into the camera. “—Oh, right, gas station.”

—

“We just really hit it off with those boys!” Leslie said, sitting behind her desk. “Hit — ha! Ha, ha!”

She stared guiltily at the camera.

*

“Gas station,” Donna replies placidly from her desk.

Tom sweeps in the door behind them, and, as he swings around the reception desk, shoots Blaine an assessing look. “Ohhhh, Brooks Brothers boys represent!” he crows, and he comes in for an enthusiastic high five that Blaine returns. “I have been telling these losers for _years_ that boys’ is the way to go!”

Blaine slowly lowers his hand. “This isn’t from the boys’ department. I buy men’s clothes.”

Kurt tilts his head.

“There is _nothing_ to be ashamed of,” Tom goes on cheerfully. “Brooks Brothers Boys is the same rakish style you love, but in slimmer cuts and at lower prices. Tommy like.”

“I don’t shop in the kids’ department,” Blaine says to Kurt, who is clearly struggling not to laugh.

“Tom, aren’t you supposed to be at Sewage right now?” Ann asks, eyes narrowed.

“Ann! My princess, my lady love, my boo!” He sweeps over to where she’s standing in Leslie’s office doorway.

“ _Oh_ god, _o_ -kay,” Ann says, catching his forehead with her palm and then holding him off like that as he keeps trying to kiss her cheek. “Number one, you can’t do stuff like that in the office, dude,” (in the background, Jerry looks sympathetic for one or both of them, Andy is watching wide-eyed, and April is sitting on the edge of Andy’s desk and smirking like she wants popcorn), “and number two, _we are not dating!_ We’re done!”

Tom whines, “But when we were drunk, you said you’d move in with me! You promised!”

Ann stares wordlessly at the camera.

“Honestly, I thought you and Leslie were in a relationship,” Blaine says, and Kurt nods emphatically.

“Oh,” she says, already starting to laugh. Leslie’s loud cackling laugh splits the air, too, as she steps back in from Ron’s office. “Oh, no, Leslie and I — we aren’t gay.”

“But if we were…” Leslie says, a gleam in her eyes.

“But we’re not.”

“But if we _were_ …”

There is a pause.

Ann suddenly smiles and says, “Yeah, okay, we probably would,” and she laughs as Leslie crosses the floor and hugs her.

Tom says, “Pretty sure I had a dream like this once.”

“Ew,” says Ann; “Ew,” says Leslie, turning around so she can glare at him while she’s still hugging Ann. “ _Department administrator Tom Haverford!_ You’re supposed to be getting Sewage on the Ramsett Park public restroom crisis!”

“Aww, why do _I_ always have to liaise with Sewage?” he complains as he goes. He tries to give Blaine another high-five on his way out the door; Blaine says, “I don’t wear children’s clothes.”

“Okay, so!” Leslie says, as she comes out of the hug. “Ron expressed some concerns about the Parks Department not being a babysitting agency, but I assured him that you’re two civic-minded young citizens of voting age with a keen interest in getting the inside scoop on the machinations of local government.”

“Actually, I’m not eight—” Blaine starts, and Kurt smoothly steps on his foot as Ron Swanson appears in the doorway of his office, face inscrutable.

“Thank you, Leslie,” Kurt says. “That’s exactly what’s happening here. Shall we?” He offers his arm.

“Ooh, okay, I like this; we shall, guv’nor!” she says, in a terrible English accent. There is a pause. Sans accent: “I don’t — I don’t know, it felt a little _Downton Abbey_ for a minute.”

“Totally,” Ann agrees supportively.

“Gentlemen,” Leslie says, bright, and the three of them walk out into the hallway. She sticks her head back in. “Ann! Just because you’re perfect doesn’t mean you can be slow!” Ann follows, shaking her head but smiling.

“—Ha!” says Andy, to a Parks Department that is now just him, April, Jerry, and Donna. “She did the accent because it’s that road where the Beatles recorded stuff!”

Donna shakes her head and returns to working at her computer. Jerry blinks. April gives him a long look, and then she says, “No.”

* * *

“So that was the commissary!” Leslie chirps, leading the way out into the hall.

“Are there … always people with protest signs in your cafeteria?” Blaine asks, Kurt looking similarly dubious.

“Oh, no,” she laughs, waving it off. Over her shoulder, Chris spots their little group and his face lights up as he starts to approach. “They’re just unhappy about some of the new health food initiatives introduced by — ” Chris swings around, smiling, and Leslie makes a surprised face and finishes, “ _City manager Chris Traeger!_ Hi Chris.”

“Leslie Knope!” he greets enthusiastically. “It’s true, employees have not welcomed the changes to the commissary menu in the way that I’d hoped they would. But I’m sure they’ll change their tunes as soon as they try the new quinoa salad with chick peas and alfalfa sprouts.” He turns his bright expression on Ann. “Ann Perkins! Who are your friends?”

Leslie glances at Blaine and Kurt. Her face takes on something of a hunted look. All in one breath: “This is Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson; they’re visiting Pawnee on a road trip after Kurt graduated from high school in Ohio and Donna and I met them last night so we’re showing them around city hall to make sure that they get the very full very important Pawnee experience.”

Behind Chris, Ann winces.

*

“So, the thing about Leslie is,” Ann said, standing outside her own office doorway, “she is maybe _the_ worst liar on the face of the planet.”

*

Chris doesn’t seem to notice that anything is amiss. He points intensely and directly at Kurt, who startles. “Kurt Hummel.” He points at Blaine next. “Blaine Anderson. I can think of _little_ that sounds more wonderful than a road trip and a tour of Pawnee’s city hall from Leslie Knope and Ann Perkins. Kurt, congratulations.” (Kurt still looks overwhelmed.) “High school graduation is a highly important rite of passage, and an impressive achievement.” He asks solicitously, “What are your plans going forward?”

The amused look drops off of Blaine’s face. He glances at Kurt.

“Road-tripping to St. Louis,” Kurt says, polite but leaning toward snappy, and there’s an awkward silence.

* * *

Kurt is sitting in Leslie’s and Tom’s empty office, in the chair where Ann often sits during chats with Leslie. He has his legs crossed and hands folded over his topmost knee, the effect somehow both casual and businesslike at the same time. “It has been A Year,” he tells the camera, intent. “Please feel free to imagine the capital letters in that title; I know I am.

“Not that last year was any less deserving of that title, but this year, despite definitely having its moments, as a whole was like—” He makes a sharp, animated gesture with his hand, and he pauses to consider. “It was like that Chumbawumba song that Carole is obsessed with, but playing for a year straight.” Beat. “Without any references to pee.”

Vehement: “So I don’t have any plans beyond next Thursday, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life, and I’m getting _really_ sick of having no answer to that question.”

He’s glaring at the camera. There is a pause.

The tight lines of his face shift all at once, as if he suddenly realizes what he has just said to a documentary camera. He lifts a hand to pat at his (impeccable) hair and gives a winning, clearly fake, smile.

*

Standing just outside the Parks Department, his arms folded as he leans in toward the camera, Blaine said, “These people are are weird. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve been really nice to us, but they’re so weird, right? And what is up with everybody being so mean to Jerry all the time? Leslie never even introduced h—”

From inside the office, April’s voice yelled, “ _God_ , Jerry!”

Blaine stared at the camera, with a wide-eyed expression that fairly screamed: _see?!_

*

Still in Leslie’s office, Kurt has clearly grown introspective again. “This trip was supposed to be,” he widens his eyes and waggles his fingers, “an experience. When Leslie offered us the tour, I accepted; what’s more of a quintessential middle-America experience than a city hall tour from an actual city councilor?”

“College sporting events,” Blaine’s voice suggests, and the camera pans out to reveal him sitting behind Leslie’s desk. “Apple pie.”

Kurt ignores him. “Honestly, we could turn around right now and I’d still be pleased with Road Trip 2k12.”

Blaine pulls a face that looks both touched and amused; Kurt glances over at him, and assures him, “—We won’t, because I am _going_ to the Fabulous Fox Theatre and my dad will disown me if we come home without a Mockingbird shirt,” ( _Cardinals jersey_ , Blaine mouths, when Kurt is looking into the camera lens again), “but so far, spending all of this time with Blaine and mostly being treated like adults, and everything we’ve done today—”

-

Quick cuts: Blaine smiling and taking a picture with his phone as Kurt sat in a leather chair in a row of identical chairs behind a long desk (the nameplate in front of him reading ‘Leslie Knope, City Councilor’), his chin lifted imperiously and eyebrow raised; Councilman Pillner standing there and just looking at Blaine, Kurt, and Leslie as Leslie yelped, “Run!” and they scrambled out of the chambers; Kurt perched on the edge of Donna’s desk and laughing at something that she had just said; shot from a distance, Kurt and Blaine sitting on a bench under the wildflower mural on the second floor, Blaine slowly sneaking his foot over until their ankles were hooked.

-

“I’m happy,” Kurt finishes, and Blaine’s whole face softens.

“Blaine!” Leslie’s voice says, and she bursts in wearing a party hat. Blaine hops up from her chair with a guilty face. “Come on, I need to borrow you for a minute; Tom seemed to relate to you, as a fellow small Brooks Brothers fan, maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“Um,” says Blaine. “I — can try; what exactly am I trying to talk him into?”

“I’ll explain on the way.” Leslie is steering him out of the office. “Kurt, feel free to use either computer, but whatever you do don’t click on any websites Tom has favorited.” She yells something that sounds like, ‘Too much cashmere!’ as she hustles Blaine out the door.

Kurt looks out after them for a long, bewildered moment, and then his mouth firms up and he moves over to sit behind Leslie’s desk.

* * *

“You don’t want to know what I just had to talk Tom out of,” Blaine says as he comes back through the door, confetti in his hair.

Kurt hums a response, suit jacket hung neatly on the back of Leslie’s desk chair and his shirt sleeves rolled up, not looking up from the monitor.

“Hey,” he says, softer, as he walks over and perches on the edge of the desk. “What’re you up to?”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “I’m looking at internships in New York, for the fall.”

Blaine starts and then his slow smile grows so big and luminous that it shines, even at the distance that the camera is filming from. Kurt looks up and begins to smile back after Blaine rests a hand on his shoulder. “Anything in particular?” Blaine asks.

“Not yet,” Kurt says. “But I’m just getting started.”

* * *

Leslie glances through the window into her office, clearly watching the two boys who are talking, their voices inaudible but their attention squarely on each other. She’s the only Parks Department employee to notice them; the others are chattering with plates of cake in hand, even Ron expounding on the difference between a cane-back chair vs. a fabric-carved chair while Jerry listens attentively.

Her mouth curves up faintly — and then her cell phone rings. She smiles at Andy and April, who are the closest (and are sharing a computer chair that was only meant for one person), and slips out into the hall with her decimated plate of cake.

“Hi,” Leslie says into her phone, leaning against the wall, and whatever the person on the other end says makes her grin. “Oh, not much; averting crises, eating cake, missing my attractive boyfriend — you know, the usual.” The last is delivered with a flirty tilt and she laughs as she says it, but it sounds a little sad, too.

She shakes it off. “Hey, I found you a friend! He’s a freshman congressman and I have some very strict instructions for you about what he is and isn’t allowed to eat.”

She pauses to allow a response, and then this time, Leslie’s laugh sounds entirely sincere.

* * *

The big SUV honks its horn as it drives out of the parking lot, Kurt behind the wheel and Blaine leaning around him from the passenger seat so they can both wave as they pull away.

Donna, Leslie, Jerry, Andy, and Tom wave back with varying degrees of enthusiasm, while April and Ron stand there looking very much like they were dragged out of the building.

Jerry starts, “They seemed like good k—”

Leslie blurts out, “We met them last night in the parking lot at the Bulge because they were drinking while underage and Donna hit Kurt with her car.”

There is silence.

She points at the camera, says, “Don’t air that,” and scurries away.


End file.
